Sunday, November 24, 2013

CranksGiving Day: We Are What We Write!

Ah, thank goodness I am not the first elf here! The chancellor is seated with the magician…and, is that the detective? Yes. Oh, his prying eyes… Must I sit next to him? Greetings, Sir, greetings, Chancellor; greetings Magician, Detective… Yes, I am fine, fine…just like I am every year. Yep... The same faces. The same coconut round table, the same roasted dragon, and the same uppity elfin food. No. No, Chancellor, please don’t ask me about– No, I have not read this collection yet, sir. Thank you; I’ll be sure to take it with me on my way out. What was that, Detective? Of course I still live at 88 ApplePie Boulevard. What an odd question. Humph. At least the magician keeps to himself.

Oh look. Last, but not least, and entering the dining hall in her flowing, pink gown – but not before her allspice cologne is Ms. Venus of all Elfdome, Plum Passion. Dear me, just look at her… You’d think she could manage coming to a dinner without that Pride and Prejudice coloring book at her side! Yes, how do YOU do, my Lady. Oh! I knew you’d make us kiss the back of your hand. Why you insist on gently massaging our chins with that candy cane crayon of yours, I will never know! Ms. Passion; your eyes give away much too much. You know, not everyone has time for romance and over-the-top coincidences and happy ending fallouts. Who needs romance, anyway? I most certainly do NOT. Where is that sugar-crusted peach-pudding bread!

Detective Knuckletaffy is always a jolly fellow. But beware! The man is always suspicious; always taking those mental notes like a list of facts bulleted by curious characterizations and then pulling out that little black book of his to deduce the induced! Point Z often ends with Point A, my friends… If I hear him say that one more time, I’m going to fling this spoonful goo of honey-brown-sugarspice right onto his cape! Ah, just what I need, Detective. So friendly, too. You pass this bowl of jollybluebean salad to me like you aren't imagining me as the next villain in your serial killer series: Terror in Taffyton. What a nice smile you have there, Detective Knuckletaffy! Yes, thank you so much for the jollybluebean salad. What was that you said? You saw me chasing my queen bee along the ApplePie Boulevard the other day? Oh, it’s true. I was taking the damn thing into the Hive Clinic to get it de-stingered, but she wiggled out of my arms. Gee, Detective; mind if you mind your own business? Must there be mystery in everything we elves do? Oh, yes, I agree; the jollybluebeans are really good this year (NOT!). Oh come on... You’re writing that in your black book, too? That I like the salad?

What’s this? Oh thanks, Plum Passion, for this mug of love potion – oh, I mean beer yum-yum yam root with a licorice stick. Whatever, lady! I know what you put in my drink – it’s the same love grove grapey juice potion that you put in all of our drinks every Thanksgiving, you glam writer, you! Give it up, Ms. Plum Passion; we are all on to you. Look…Chancellor Wintergreen is pouring it out – he doesn’t even need to look up from his scrolls – and our colorful magician swirls his beer root with the licorice, boils the drug off in a spritz of electrical-like zaps. Detective Knuckletaffy just pretends to sip it while he grins at you, jots down a few notes in his little black book, deciphering your next move. Your love potion, my dear, won’t even work on me, because I don’t want to read romance and I don’t need romantic twists in my finely structured life. Besides, I am a gay elf, as in g-a-y. Oh whatever; just look at us. We all look like gay elves! (And only a gay elf can say that, you understand.) You smile at me and then you go back to your coloring book, I see…drawing angst with a magenta crayon. Oh, I hate magenta!

What a fine bunch are we! Sitting here for a feast that no one wants to eat because we’d all rather be in our homes and writing our own stories. Magician Inuon Laerornor… he zaps my beer root for me. Thank you, sir. You are the only elf with an actually cool name. Mysterious little wizardy thing; hardly talks, always conjuring up strange beasts with two heads, three eyes, and large bosoms. Oh! The things he has had me create in my lab: Urban de-romancer stones that turns any gothic cityscape into Welsh castles and hills scarped; an all-complete and searchable Sci-Fi/Fantasy dictionary App (total fail!); and a pink marshmallow that giggles when it’s squeezed. He put that one in his own sachet; tried to tell me it was for the Mrs. Inuon Laerornor. Hmm... I don’t care what you do in your personal life, sir; just keep your fantasy writing to yourself and I will be much obliged. No time for fantasy in my life. Yes, thank you for offering me the pureed yum-yum yam pea soup. Just what I need… Pureed. Yum. Yum. Yam. Pea. Soup. Magician Laerornor seems to like it. Easy there, Magic Man! There’s probably a whole vat of this crap burping on the stove. Who needs fantasy, anyway? The stuff is hard to conjure and even harder to read! I most certainly do NOT need magic of any kind. My bookshelves are lined with science literature and technical journals for a reason: because life should be predictable and scaffold by the natural physics, and nothing else. Ugh! These yams are terrible. Must we elves put yum-yum yams into everything?

Oh? You pass on the soup, Chancellor Evergreen Wintergreen? I don’t blame you. You wouldn’t want to dip your feathered pen into the pea soup thinking it was your liquid gold ink. Hello? Can you stop writing? Can you look up from your scrolls? Write! Write! Write! Why can’t we elves just leave our stories behind for once? We are supposed to be having a nice Thanksgiving dinner here! Oh –  I just KNOW you are going to scribe everything we say here today, Chancellor Wintergreen! We are writing even when we are not – yes, yes; I know this. Who needs culture?

I most certainly do NOT need culture. Why do I care about history and what other authors have written? Society is a creeping blanket that will smother us in our gingerbread beds! I am happy slurping down my buttered raspberry porridge while I stare at my lovely blank pages! If I have anything to write, then I will write it in my own words without any need for your historical facts and intrigue, Chancellor Wintergreen, or your passionate romance trickery, Ms. Plum Passion, or that who-ha fantasy and spells you conjure, Magician Laerornor – and certainly not those layered and mysterious who-dunnits that you manipulate, Detective Knuckletaffy! No, I do NOT need apply any literary device or keep to some specific genre at all. Life is already too difficult for us elves. Let me write my elfin stories with the exactness of science and in the format of standard operating protocol, solicit my finest work to the most stringent of publishers, and proudly see my article with my name on the finest gold-thread cloth, like my latest:

“The Synergetic Coupling in Growth and Root Production of the Yum-yum Yam and the Crankberry Vine
By Randis Murris Plum-Pants

Oh, dear. Now Chancellor Wintergreen has invited us to his library for a round of Lipton Tea. What the hell is Lipton Tea? Can’t we elves just leave the funny names behind?!

Love you guys! Truth is, I need romance, mystery, fantasy, and history in my writing. In other words, I need you all in my writing life and the gifts you offer. And, thanks for the potion, Plum Passion. Forgers Forever!


  1. Ah, yes, tis the season (well, almost):

    On the 12th day of Christmas, a writer gave to me:
    12 (hundred) rejections,
    11 mugs of coffee,
    a 10-pound Thesaurus,
    9 writing contests,
    8 full revisions,
    7 great blog Comments,
    6 Twitter Retweets,
    4 metaphors,
    3 stinging red-lines,
    2 fresh ideas,
    and a partridge described in detail!

    Note: Borrowed liberally from a few other versions!

    Happy Forger Thanksgiving to all

  2. Ha! Eat well, and swirled peas to all in Elfdome!